Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Without another word, the owner leapt onto the camel's back and the animal got back
to its feet, almost jumping in a display of surprising agility. With the man now on top, the
pair trotted around in a large circle. The man smiled, clearly enjoying showing off his rid-
ing prowess.
'Well?' said Bala.
If Bala had been born in England, he would no doubt have been an excellent used-car
salesman; I decided to remain impassive, unimpressed.
'Let's see some more . . .'
Three hours later, sun-burnished and tired, I stood at the edge of the souq, staring at
three camels - and with a wallet that felt considerably lighter. The first, brown and smal-
ler than the other two, had a quiet serenity about him, but there was a sparkle in his eyes
that intimated a definite sense of mischief. I had decided to call him Gordon, after General
Charles Gordon, the British officer who had masterminded the year-long defence of Khar-
toum when it was besieged in 1884 - only to be killed two days before reinforcements
arrived. The other two camels, both white, were much grumpier, snorting and snarling the
entire time.
'We'll call those two Burton and Speke,' I told Moez. 'Let's hope they don't go after
each other like those two explorers did . . .'
In his hut, the negotiations complete, Bala appeared happy with his deal: all three camels
sold for the princely sum of 23,000 Sudanese pounds. 'Of course,' he added, 'you'll be
needing saddles as well . . .' He smiled as we handed over yet more money. I only hoped
I'd be able to sell them again when we reached the border, and somehow recoup some of
my losses.
'You know,' said Bala as we returned to the camels, 'it isn't going to be easy. Your man,
does he know camels?'
Moez was a tour guide, not a camel man. We watched the way the handlers skilfully
threaded ropes through holes in the camels' noses, how they fed them
sorghum -
a grass
rich with nutrients - and massaged their necks to ensure it went down the right hole; how
they picked ticks from their eyelids and arseholes. I was under no illusion that I knew what
I was doing, and Bala seemed to have sensed it.
'I'd love to go with you,' he said, 'but I'm just too busy.'
I did not need to be a prophet to know what was coming next. I simply waited and
watched Bala's face light up.
'But I know some men who will. How would you like me to make an introduction? It
will cost you, of course . . .'
Two days later, we left Khartoum in our wake.
